


One Word Too Many

by aykayem



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP: EWE, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-31
Updated: 2011-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-19 23:22:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aykayem/pseuds/aykayem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just when his life had no silver lining, Percy shone an unwilling light upon it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Word Too Many

At first, Draco was sitting alone. Sitting alone at a table in the middle of the room, with a good view of the sidewalk through the large window to his left, a steaming mug of tea clasped in his hands. Not that the view really mattered; his eyes were locked on his own hands, averted from anyone who might pass or fancy a stare. Once upon a time, he would have sat up straight, back to the wall - paranoia, perhaps - and eyes watching everyone in the vicinity with equal scrutiny. Those times had long since passed; he had grown, both as a person and into himself. He was no longer the overconfident little boy everyone still believed him to be: he was an adult, a functioning member of society. It was only for lack of outside trust - though it wasn’t to say that he was precisely an open book to all that passed - that he lowered his head and accepted what cards were dealt his way.

The cafe bustled around hi, people picking up their morning teas and coffees with whipped cream - a trend Draco didn’t understand - and mingling with one another. There was enough noise in the small room to create a clamour that nearly didn’t allow him his own thoughts. It was a Muggle cafe, and one the blond frequented; that aside, it was a racket he could tolerate. Sometime after the war, when the insults hurled across Diagon Alley had become too much to bear and the practical jokes had grown tired, he had taken to wandering outside his comfort zone, outside the wizarding world. It was there that he was able to find himself not only stared at but almost ignored, something that came as solace after the fall of his family name.

His fingers tightened over the mug briefly, at the thought of the war and everything it had brought; he felt strangely isolated in that moment, as the skin of his left forearm prickled unpleasantly, a perpetual reminder of what he and his family had gone through. He swallowed, forcing himself to focus; his eyes drifted up from where they lingered upon the table, slowly tracing a path up to his companion. When exactly Draco had been joined was beyond him - something that normally would not have gone unnoticed under any circumstances - but it wasn’t an unwelcome party.

“Mr Malfoy?”

“That’s my father,” Draco simply replied, grey eyes threatening already to drop back down to the table; for now, they studied the colour of the wall over his companion’s shoulder. A deep blue: it set off the bright red of the other man’s hair.

“Draco, then.”

A faint smile curved his mouth upwards; the gesture didn’t reach his eyes. Percy went on, taking a sip of the coffee Draco hadn’t seen him order. Unsurprising, considering he hadn’t even noticed the older man enter. There was a prolonged silence between them, the blond finally moving to take a sip of his tea - not black, as most would expect, but with three sugars and cream; it was something akin to the colour of wet cardboard - and Percy simply staring at him. It wasn’t a judging stare - it never was with the redhead - but one of studying, as if there was something no one was able to find lurking just beneath the surface of Draco’s carefully masked emotions.

“I missed you earlier.”

Grey eyes snapped to meet blue at the statement, brows raised almost imperceptibly in curiosity. Percy shrugged one shoulder, poker face pristine; only one of them was to be studied at any given moment, and now was not Percy’s time.

“Earlier, when you didn’t come by the Ministry,” he clarified, as if Draco’s silence was a plea for further explanation.

“You have only your brother to blame for that.”

It was the drawl that Percy had come to love.The nonchalance that bled into his every word, lightly drawn out in a way that the redhead knew was meant to seduce, was meant to keep its listener hanging on every little syllable. He wondered sometimes if it were nothing more than pure habit that caused that drawl to override everything else in a one-on-one situation, rather than intention: Draco’s eyes were still averted slightly as if he wanted to escape the confines of his chair, instead of locked upon Percy’s own.

“I’ve told Ron to avoid you if he dislikes you so much.”

“You know he can’t do that.”

They lapsed into relative silence again, their conversation already drowned out by the raucous around them both; it made them feel like they were in their own world, far apart from the Muggles clamouring for their overly sweetened beverages. It was companionable silence, not at all awkward despite who they both were. Percy, a Ministry employee - still, despite all that had gone on during the war and after - and Draco, all but officially ostracised from the wizarding world. There was something that had drawn them together: some kind of similarity that allowed them to understand the other at their most base, allowed them to fathom why the other did the things they did.

Finally: “I’d like you-”

Draco held up one hand in the universal gesture to pause, and Percy did. It was another long moment, blue eyes studiously waiting to see what the blond was playing at.

“Why the conditional?”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“I don’t want you to finish. That would change the context.”

Percy blinked slowly, brows caterpillaring together briefly as he tried to comprehend the roundabout way in which Draco addressed things. The blond had finally met Percy’s gaze, was now staring as if it would impart whatever knowledge Draco had directly into Percy’s mind; his eyebrows rose slightly as he realised perhaps what Draco had intended by stopping him there, by questioning the conditional, and the once-companionable silence grew slowly awkward.

And still Draco said nothing.

It was a long moment - one that felt almost like hours, if it weren’t for the fact that their respective drinks were still warm - before the blond finally moved; his hands left his mug, planting firmly on the table as if to push away, and he likely would have left if Percy hadn’t reached out, one of his own hands covering Draco’s. Once again, their world was left unshattered by everything around them. Draco was caught mid-motion, now freezing as if even one movement would break the spell neither of them had cast.

“I do like you.”

Draco’s only response was to slowly shift himself back into his chair, possibly for the long haul. Percy didn’t bother removing his hand from Draco’s as he continued, merely offering a reassuring squeeze to the blond’s long digits.

“And I would prefer if you would get over your tendency to flee from things you don’t like.”

Draco opened his mouth to reply - _I can’t help it_ , Percy could already hear. It was his turn to hold up his hand, calling for authoritative silence.

“I’m Ministry, Draco - you realise that, I know you do - but it’s going to put an incredible damper on things, particularly if you plan on running every time something comes up.”

“I’m not going t-”

“We both know you were.”

Silence reigned supreme, second in command only to logic, and Percy stood smug as the king of both. Draco ducked his head slightly, averting his gaze even further; it was almost odd to see the change from the cocky child he once was to this silent young man.

“Can you promise me you won’t run?”

“I can’t promise anything.”

“Are you willing to try?”

Draco paused for a moment, eyes searching the table for answers, like they would be scribed into the woodgrain like existential vandalism.

“Yes.”

“Then we’re fine.”


End file.
